


Dote Upon the Exchange I

by Crowgirl



Series: Welcoming Silences [44]
Category: Foyle's War
Genre: Accidental Clothing Swap, Clothing, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:03:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5936158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Isn’t that Mr. Foyle’s jumper?’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dote Upon the Exchange I

‘Isn’t that Mr. Foyle’s?’ 

Sam’s voice is a little muffled as Paul tugs the woollen folds the rest of the way down over his head. ‘What?’

She gestures with the cup of tea she then sets down in front of him. ‘Isn’t that Mr. Foyle’s jumper?’

‘Oh...er…’ He had been thinking about the tea but now he looks down at himself, pulling his cuffs straight automatically, and realises that yes, yes, it is indeed Christopher’s jumper, not his own. _Christ._ He must have grabbed the wrong thing in the half-darkened bedroom this morning after the call about the child’s body on the beach came in. 

He tugs at the hem of the jumper and makes another noncommittal noise, steals a glance at Sam, and dismisses all thought of her trying to make some sort of dark insinuation or, indeed, telling tales at all. Honestly, he’s never believed Sam capable of serious guile. Her thoughts show too quickly on her face; all that shows now is tiredness and a kind of friendly affection that makes him wish their situation were different.

He looks across the room and Foyle is looking back at him, eyes slightly narrowed. They’re probably lucky he hadn’t ended up with Paul’s tie or something else equally ludicrous -- and dangerous. As it is… Well, Sam is the only one to notice and if his gut instinct about her is wrong--

Paul clears his throat and pulls the cup and saucer closer. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I think you left it in the kitchen last night. I must’ve picked it up by mistake this morning.’

Foyle shakes his head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He bites back a yawn and adds, ‘Just don’t get so warm you fall asleep. We’ve got a round of interviewing to do.’

* * *

They don't get home until very late, only about an hour before they had been woken up by the original phone call, Paul notes, thinking it would be funny if he had enough strength left to laugh. But the case is completed, the child’s body _en route_ to her parents, the killer in a Brighton cell.

Paul slumps into a kitchen chair, rubbing his hand over his head as if it will help him wake up -- or go to sleep, he isn’t sure which he wants more.

Foyle comes in from the sitting room, Tweed following close behind him in hopes of more dinner. ‘You’re still wearing my jumper.’

‘Hmm?’ Paul blinks at him wearily and then the words sink in and he pushes himself up right. ‘Oh, yes, right -- sorry, I --’ He goes to catch the hem and pull it off, mourning the loss of the warmth a little bit, but they’ll be in bed soon enough, so it hardly-- 

Foyle’s hand on his wrist stops him. ‘I didn’t say you should take it off.’

**Author's Note:**

> This piece comes some time after _[Scanning the Headlines](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5433986/chapters/12556970)_ , which I have mentally subtitled "Sam Figures It Out."
> 
> The title is from _Much Ado About Nothing_ and the whole nine yards is clearly and shamelessly based on this post from [Stuff Kivrin Likes.](http://kivrin.tumblr.com/post/120135697602/ogp3-who-wore-it-best-milner-and-foyle-sport)


End file.
